Christmas Present
by clair beaubien
Summary: REPOST: the boys' first Christmas after Dean gets back from hell. What present can they possibly get for each other?


The boys' first Christmas after Dean came back from hell.

"Sam, where's Dad's journal?"

"In my backpack." Sam called from the bathroom. He looked around the door, toothbrush in his hand. "Why?"

"I'm pretty sure I remember something in there like this fugly mother we're chasing."

Dean stood up from the table of research and went to backpack on Sam's bed. He unzipped the biggest pocket and felt inside. He pulled a can of shaving cream out.

"Hey, I think this is empty, you want me to throw it out?"

"What's empty?" Sam looked around the door again. He tossed his toothbrush onto the bathroom sink and walked to Dean to grab the can from him. "It's not empty." He put the can back into his backpack and pulled the journal from another pocket. He offered it to Dean.

"It's empty, Sam. Why are you keeping an empty can of shaving cream?"

"I'm not keeping it." Sam zipped his backpack shut and set it on the other side of his bed.

"First it's not empty – which it is." Dean said. "Then you're not keeping it – which you are."

"_What_?" Sam asked.

"Just wondering why you're keeping an empty can."

Sam just gave him a look like Dean was the crazy one and went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth and get dressed.

"What'd you find?" He asked when he came out and sat at the table.

"Yep, same exact thing. Geesh – is there anything Dad didn't hunt? Fortunately it's at its weakest – and easiest to find and kill – just after dawn so we won't be chasing it in the middle of the night in the middle of winter."

"Yeah, that'll be good." Sam said. Then added, "_Christmas last year_," so quietly it was a whisper.

"What?"

"That can. That's the shaving cream you got me for Christmas last year."

"I'll buy you some more." Dean said as though it was the answer to a problem.

"I _have_ shaving cream Dean. I just – just -." Sam shrugged and pulled one of the newspaper pages to him. "So does it seem like this thing is changing locations? Moving around?"

"No, no. Seems like a stable base of operations so far. Pretty sure it's around here…" He circled a spot on the map in front of him. "Dilapidated farm, old barn, there's a well and – _oh _- even an old privy on the place. Doesn't get any better than this."

"I guess not." Sam agreed.

"So…" Dean ventured. "You kept the can."

"Yeah." Sam didn't take his eyes off the newspaper. Dean didn't press and after a minute Sam explained. "It was all I had. Sometimes it felt like all I had. No matter how bad – how bad things got, if I could use that shaving cream, it felt like – like you weren't so far away. Then when it was gone – I couldn't get rid of it. When I touched it, it was like – like you weren't so far away."

Dean considered his brother – and the amulet he wore around his own neck.

"I woulda got you something a little more portable if I'd known you were going to keep it."

Sam looked up at Dean and managed a sad smile. "You could've got me a tuba and I'd be hauling that around."

"A tuba?" Dean asked, the hint of a brilliant idea shining in his eyes.

"It was just an example, Dean."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you musta said it for a reason."

"Dean – I do _not_ want a tuba."

"I thought you were paying a lot of attention to that German polka band back in Pennsylvania."

"Dean – so help me, if you buy me a tuba I will play it all day every day. You'll never be able to hear another cassette tape in the car again."

That was a threat Dean had to consider.

"Concertina?"

"Dean_."_

"What's that thing they make with a potato and a horn?"

"_Dean._"

"What?"

"_No instruments."_

"Geesh, all right. Killjoy." He surveyed the research again and after a few minutes added quietly, "Christmas is coming up. I want to get you something."

He looked up to find Sam staring at him.

"I already got what I wanted for Christmas. I got what I wanted for every Christmas for the rest of my life."

Dean knew what he meant of course. _Him_. He was what Sam wanted for Christmas, for the rest of his life. Even with all the fighting and arguing and misunderstandings and shared memories of agony that they'd stumbled their way through since September, and probably would be stumbling through for some time to come, Sam would be grateful for the rest of his life that Dean was alive.

And that was a pretty good Christmas present all in itself too.

"Me too."

The End.


End file.
